


Everything I Am Not

by nausikaaa



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Carry On Through The Ages, F/F, Fem!Simon, Genderbend, Mutual Pining, POV First Person, Period-Typical Sexism, Sharing a Bed, Simon's POV, Some violence and angst, baz is a bitch and i like her so much, fem!Baz, fem!SnowBaz, simon is a rascal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27391999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausikaaa/pseuds/nausikaaa
Summary: I don’t know why I agreed to this job.Well, I do. I need the money, and I need to obtain it legally. But still, I’m beginning to wish I just got a job as a seamstress or maid and earned a steady living, like Penny suggested, instead of, and I quote: “running off to get yourself killed the first time some shady guy offers you some quick cash.”The aforementioned phrase was actually prefaced with “Simone, don’t even think about-“. It was the one strict rule she set before she left.She’s not going to be pleased.---Simon is hired to retrieve some stolen goods. Instead, she ends up escorting a rather rude teenage girl with bad preservation instincts home.
Relationships: Ebeneza "Ebb" Petty & Simon Snow, Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Shepard & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Shepard, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25
Collections: Carry On Through The Ages





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I did research this, just not very much, and I'm also not American, so apologies for anything I get wrong!
> 
> the title is lyrics from the song Stay Italian Greyhound by Vienna Teng.
> 
> art is by the amazing @Thommo_Leigh (tumblr: @justasfacelessasever)

I don’t know why I agreed to this job.

Well, I do. I need the money, and I need to obtain it legally. But still, I’m beginning to wish I just got a job as a seamstress or maid and earned a steady living, like Penny suggested, instead of, and I quote: “running off to get yourself killed the first time some shady guy offers you some quick cash.”

The aforementioned phrase was actually prefaced with “Simone, don’t even think about-“. It was the one strict rule she set before she left.

She’s not going to be pleased.

Despite proving she knows best time and time again, I still have a lot of trouble following her advice.

The shady guy in question’s name is Mr Grimm (super shady), and he offered me a hell of a lot of money to do something that will get me killed. Well, he told me he thinks it’ll get me killed. I like to think I know better.

“Hello, gentlemen!” I begin cheerily. The group of thugs jump at my sudden appearance, all pulling out pistols and aiming at me. Or at least in the general direction of me. Most of them look like they’ve never even held a gun before. “I believe you have something that doesn’t belong to you!”

“Who the hell are you?” One of them- the leader, I presume- asks. There are five boys in total, all of varying ages, but all of them are young, the oldest being about my age. I don’t know how they managed to break into a large, well-protected home and make off without getting caught. Aside from the leader, they look inexperienced and, quite frankly, terrified.

“I was sent by Mr Grimm. Hand over what you stole, and there doesn’t need to be any violence.” I consider dismounting, but worry any sudden movement may spook somebody. Plus, I don’t know how many others there are hiding nearby. We’re in a pretty open area, but there are one or two possibly not-so-abandoned ramshackle houses behind the boys, likely the remnants of a failed gold mining town, considering the shoddy infrastructure and the bubbling of a nearby brook.

“You have the ransom money?” The leader asks.

“No.” I slowly move my hand to my hip. The boys try to follow my movement with their guns. Most of them are holding it loosely with one hand; if they shoot, chances are they’ll miss me entirely and injure themselves. “I have this.” I tap my own pistol, but don’t take it out of its holster.

“You can’t threaten us.” The leader snarls. “Give us what we asked for, or fuck off.”

I sigh and rake a hand through my tangled hair, aware that the movement is tracked by four scared kids who could pull the trigger at any second. “Look, I don’t want to do this, but you’re not giving me any better options. Step down and accept the loss, okay? You won’t win this fight.”

“Oh yeah?” The leader brandishes his own pistol, and I’m surprised to see that he actually looks like he knows how to handle it. “I’m pretty sure I can beat a little girl like you no problem. I’m gonna give your ten seconds to leave before I take you hostage as well. Ten, nine,”

“Hang on, hostage?” I frown.

“Eight, seven, six,”

“Grimm never mentioned a hostage!”

“Five, four,”

“Can we discuss this peacefully?”

“Three, two,”

“Oh, fuck it.”

The leader drops his pistol and falls to the ground, hands flying to his injured leg as he shouts a string of curse words. I put my pistol away and dismount as the rest of the boys drop their own weapons and raise their hands in surrender. I pull a roll of bandages from one of Cherry’s saddle packs, and throw it to the nearest kid. “Wrap that up tight. You don’t want it getting infected.”

“Shoot him, you numpties!” The injured boy screams as the scared boy scrabbles to try to tend to his leg.

“What do I do about the bullet?” The kid asks me, ignoring the command to kill me. “Won’t I need to pull it out?”

“I only grazed him.” I reply. “He won’t even bleed that much; he’ll be fine so long as you keep the wound covered and clean.”

“Fucking kill him!”

“You said a hostage?” I ask the writhing, injured man, kicking his gun out of his reach as a precaution. “Grimm said something was stolen, he didn’t mention it was a person”.

“What the fuck else would we ask for such a large ransom for?” He spits.

I groan and run my hand through my hair again. I wish I’d been warned; I would have brought an extra horse.

“Well, where are they?”

The leader hisses “I’m not telling you,” as all the other boys’ heads turn towards the furthest house.

“Thanks.” I take a few steps toward the house, then pause and turn. “If any of you touch my horse, I will kill you.” I add, before entering the dilapidated building.

The house is barely a house. The five rotting wooden walls form two small, sparsely furnished rooms filled with cockroaches and a lump in one corner that I’m fairly sure is a dead rat, though I’m not particularly inclined to double check. I search both rooms, but find nothing, even when I call out for the kidnapped person. I’m about to go back outside and ask one of the boys to help me when I hear a soft thump from behind me, and turn around to face the closet.

“Huh.”

Why didn’t I think to check that?

A thick chain wrapped around the handles keeps it closed, but a solid kick to the rusted lock breaks it off. The closet swings open with a loud creak, and I find myself staring into dark grey eyes.

It’s a girl about my age. A pretty girl no less, with long hair and delicate features, aside from a long, slightly crooked nose, dressed only in a thin white nightdress. She’s sat, barefoot, with her knees pulled up to her chest in the cramped space, cringing at the sudden light.

I reach down and remove her gag, then offer a hand to her.

“Who are you?” Her voice is hoarse, her expression sour, and I immediately don’t like her.

“I’m Simone.” I say, smiling anyway. “Your father sent me.”

“It’s about time.” She huffs, staggering to her feet without taking my hand. I drop it to my side and let her climb out of the small space himself.

“Yeah, well, I may have ridden here faster if I was made aware that I was rescuing a person. I was led to believe you were some priceless antique or something.”

She pulls a face I can’t interpret and starts striding towards the door.

“What’s your name?” I ask. I receive no reply. As she reaches the door, I rush to her side and pull her back.

She turns to scowl at me, slapping my hand away from her shoulder.

“Keep your hands off me!”

“If you just waltz out there, there’s a good chance you’ll get shot.” I snap back, pulling my hand away and instead pulling out my pistol again. As I open the door, I hold it out, and though some of the boys have picked up their guns, they don’t seem very eager to shoot.

“We’ll be going now.” I say cheerily, heading back to Cherry and trusting that the nameless woman I just rescued is following me. “Next time you decide to commit a crime, try highway robbery.” I suggest, tucking my pistol away and hoisting myself back up into the saddle. “That’s what I did for the first few years.”

The girl looks around in disdain. “Where’s my horse?”

“As I said,” I sigh, “I didn’t expect you to be a person. We’ll have to share.”

“Don’t these have any horses?” She gestures to the boys.

“We had to sell ours to buy food.” One of them, the smallest, pipes up. I feel a pang of pity for the group, picking out pieces of myself in each of them despite my better judgement. After a moment of deliberation I rummage around in a saddle bag and pull out half a loaf of bread. It’s a bit stale, but it’s food nonetheless. I hold it out in invitation, and after a brief pause, probably assessing whether it’s a trap, the smallest boy reaches out and takes it from me gingerly.

“As I said, start smaller than kidnapping.” I say. “And learn how to properly handle a gun, so you don’t break your wrist.” 

Then I turn to my charge. “Get on behind me. The journey will only take about three and a half days.” She looks unimpressed. I roll my eyes, aware of the sun sinking below the horizon. “The longer you fight me on this, the longer it takes to get you home. You might have the time, but I don’t. Get on the horse, or I’ll drag you behind me.”

“You can’t say that to me!”

“Hm.” I stare at her, refusing to back down as she stands with her arms crossed like a petulant toddler for a solid ten seconds, then realises I’m not about to budge and drops the pose, pulling herself up into the saddle behind me with a grumbled string of curses. I’m surprised she knows how to mount a horse, considering her affluent background, but don’t say anything.

I wave at the boys, some of whom wave back, before turning and riding away, painfully aware of the long ride ahead of me with the worst stolen property I’ve ever had the displeasure of transporting.


	2. Chapter 2

“So you’re a thief.” It’s the first word the girl has spoken in at least two hours. She sways as she sits sideways on saddle behind me, and I’m surprised she hasn’t fallen off yet, since she seems to be adamantly against holding onto me even as we trot along the uneven plains. It’s getting dark and I’m thinking of stopping soon, but have so far kept riding in the hopes of coming across a town.

“An ex thief.” I reply.

“And now what are you? A bounty hunter?”

“A…” I pause, wondering for a moment what exactly I am. “Person for hire.” She makes a sound that is almost a laugh, and I cringe. “Yeah, I know how that sounds. I’m basically just taking any odd jobs I’m offered.” I almost mention what I’m saving for, but stop myself, remembering Penny's second commandment: don’t let anybody know of our plans.

We lapse back into silence. It’s not exactly uncomfortable- I’m used to long stretches of silence, riding with only Cherry and the snakes for company. I let myself zone out somewhat, enjoying the smudges of purple and gold on the horizon as the sun sinks.

“My name is Basira.” The sudden voice makes me jump slightly, but then I smile behind my neckerchief.

“I’m Simone.”

“Yes, you’ve told me already.”

God, is she even capable of feigning politeness?

More silence follows, and I begin to want to rip my hair out as the awkwardness finally begins to creep in. I decide to talk to, at the very least, fill the silence.

“Why were you kidnapped?”

I cringe. Is that really the best I can come up with?

I feel Basira shrug behind me.

“My father has a lot of enemies, he probably snubbed them in some way.”

“And they took it out on you?”

“Considering they shoved a bag over my head in the middle of the night and started arguing the minute they took it off, I assume they thought they had kidnapped my little sister.”

“Oh. Well, at least it must be a relief to know she’s safe.”

“Oh yes, I’m so glad I got kidnapped instead.” She says dryly. Does she think she’s being funny? I think back to Penny, waving at me from the train window as it pulled away and I was dragged off the platform by a handsy trainman. I think of her letters, carefully tied with a ribbon and stored safely in the bottom of one of my saddle bags. My most valuable possession.

“I’m just saying, if I had a sister, I’d rather I suffer instead of her.”

“I think I’d just prefer if neither of us were kidnapped, actually.”

“Yeah, obviously,” I snap, “but if you had to choose someone to be kidnapped, you would choose yourself, right?”

“You’re very interested in this, suddenly.” She drawls. “Why does it matter?”

“I’m just trying to figure out if you’re as uppish as you’ve led me to believe so far.” I growl.

“Uppish?” She scoffs. “I’m just being reasonable, it’s not my fault you’re more self-sacrificing than intelligent.”

“Shut up.” Cherry abruptly stops, jostling Basira into me.

“No, you started this! I’m going to-“ She shuts up with a hard elbow to the ribs. She makes a disgruntled noise, but I’m not focused on her.

I’m focused on the three men in front of us. I don’t know where they came from, here they are, mounted and brandishing their pistols. I slowly reach for my own, only to stop when I hear three clicks as they cock their guns.

“Put ‘em up.” The man in the centre says. I slowly do so, and hope Basira follows suit.

“We don’t want any trouble.” I say, making sure my voice is level. They don’t look like law enforcement, but I don’t know where they stand. They could be common bandits, or they could be vigilantes, believing themselves do-gooders. Either way, I'm in trouble.

“Do as we say and there won’t be any.” The man on the left says.

“Get down off your horse.” The man in the centre looks disdainfully over my shoulder. “The both of you.”

I do as he says, and thankfully Basira does the same. Two of the men do so too, their guns still trained on us.

“I don’t have any money.” One of them begins rifling through Cherry’s saddle bags while the other keeps his gun trained on me, but sure enough, they’re mostly empty apart from a threadbare blanket, some bread, and a couple of apples. He pockets the apples, but leaves the stale bread and blanket.

“I don’t believe you don’t have any money.” The leader sneers. “I recognise you. You’re one of Davy’s dogies, you must have something hidden away. Empty your pockets.”

Sighing, I turn my pockets inside out, revealing that they’re empty.

“How about your boots?”

“I’m not keeping any money in my boots.” I snap.

“Prove it.”

I glower at the man, but he stares right back, both of us unflinching. A solid thirty seconds pass without either of us moving, then before either of us breaks, the man searching my saddle bags breaks the tension.

“Hey, I think I found something.”

He holds up the letters, and my heart leaps to my throat.

He unties the ribbon keeping them together and starts reading through them, barely skimming them. One by one, he drops them carelessly to the floor. My fingers burn to reach out and grab them, smooth them down and roll them back up carefully, but I’m being watched, and know that I can’t afford to show how much they mean to me. Men like this will use anything against you, even if all it gets them is a quick laugh.

“I love you, blah blah blah, meet me in Oregon, blah blah blah,” He keeps going through them, until he stops on the final sheet.

Oh.

Oh no.

I forgot about that.

He seems to skim over it, hesitate, then read it again, more carefully, before raising his eyes to the rider.

“Apparently, Miss Snow here is carrying something highly valuable. And one Mr Grimm is willing to pay a hell of a lot of money for the safe return of such an item.” All eyes turn to Basira and I. “So, which one of you is Miss Snow, and what are you delivering?”

My mind blanks. What the hell am I supposed to say? Aside from the obvious answer- Basira- I don’t have anything of worth.

“It’s… ah…”

“I’m Miss Snow.” Basira speaks up, pushing in front of me and placing her hands on her hips. If it wasn’t for her stained nightdress and birds-nest of hair, she would almost look as respectable and intimidating as she clearly intends to appear. “We have yet to pick up Mr Grimm’s cargo. We’re on our way to it now.”

“What is this cargo?”

She pauses, and for a second I think she’s as stumped as I, but then she speaks again, thoughtfully.

“Why should I tell you that?”

“Because otherwise I’ll be inviting you to dance.” He fires a warning shot just centimetres from her foot, and she jumps with a short shriek. The men laugh, but she quickly composes herself, shimmying her shoulders like she’s quite literally shaking off her embarrassment.

“Then I wouldn’t be able to tell you anyway.”

“Stop being a smartass.” I mumble.

“How about I blow your companion’s head off, then?” My heart starts thundering in my chest.

“Fine!” She snaps. “It’s… a book.”

“A book?”

“Yes!” She nods emphatically. I join in nervously. “It’s a very expensive encyclopaedia. It’s in a town roughly a day’s ride north of here.” She must be bullshitting, but fortunately there is a town northwards, though it’s further than a day’s ride away.

“Alright…” The trio don’t seem interested anymore. I suppose even with the allure of valuables, they draw the line somewhere, and that somewhere is at books.

They get back on their horses and look like they’re about ready to leave. I can feel myself relaxing already.

“Well, you’ve both been useless.” It’s at this point that I realise that their guns are still unholstered. “How about you stop wasting our time, yeah? I’ll give you ten seconds, and then I’ll start shooting.”

What is it with people and ten second countdowns? It gives me far too big a window to retaliate.

Baz grunts in surprise as I knock her out of the way and fan out three chambers in quick succession, spooking the three men’s horses. The centre one rears up, causing the lifeless body of his rider to fall off as he does, and the other two bolt, taking their injured riders with them. Before they have the time to rein them in and come back for revenge, I fire at them again. I miss, but it serves as a fairly effective warning shot, and they flee.

“Do you know how to ride?” I ask, thrusting the stallion’s reins into Basira’s hands then scrambling to pick up the letters, which have been scattered by the wind, which seems to be picking up.

“Yes.”

“Good. Get on Cherry.”

“What the hell is Cherry?” For some reason, it’s this sentence which makes me really pick up on her accent. Though it does sound American on the surface, it’s also got a distinctly un-American sound to it, though I can’t figure out what.

“Cherry is my horse.”

She rolls his eyes and mumbles something I don’t catch, and makes no attempt to do as I instructed.

I finish collecting up the letters and glance around one final time to make sure that’s all of them, then carefully fold them and return them to their saddle bag. I’m missing the ribbon which used to tie them together, but a quick glance around tells me I don’t have time to worry about that right now.

The final piece of paper- the contract between myself and Mr Grimm, blows past my feet, I pick it up, haphazardly fold it, and shove it down the front of my jumps. Baz pulls a face of disgust at me.

“Get on Cherry!” I repeat.

“It’s your horse, you ride it.” She shoots back. “I’ll take this one.”

“No way is that happening.” I scoff. The horse is at least 16 hands, and a stallion. They’re temperamental enough on their own, and even worse around other horses. I don’t trust Basira to ride one; even if this one does seem to be rather well behaved. 

“I’ve been riding since I was old enough sit upright.” Basira snaps. “I’m riding it.” She hauls herself up into the stallion’s saddle, her nightdress bunched up around her surprisingly muscular thighs, and sets off at a canter, which puts an end to that discussion, I suppose. Groaning in frustration, I mount Cherry and take off after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This fic will update every Wednesday and Sunday, so check back then, and in the meantime I would massively appreciate any comments!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this a day late but shh

“It’s Basira, by the way.” She says as we’re setting up camp for the night.

“What?”

“Earlier, you pronounced my name wrong.”

I pick up a thick branch and place it on top of the growing pile in her outstretched arms.

“What did I say?”

“Bazira. It’s Basira. With an S.”

“You just said the same name twice.” I deadpan.

“I did not.”

“Basira.” I try again, deliberately pronouncing it worse than before.

“Basira.”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“Okay,” She sighs, expression irritated but voice tinged with laughter, “how about you just call me Baz? Cut out the one bit you can get right?”

“Fine.” I smile, and Baz almost smiles back.

I’ve decided to camp out for the night next to a pile of boulders, as it offers some cover from the wind, which is getting even stronger. Baz and I let the horses drink from a nearby stream while I refill my waterskin, then we tether them and settle down for the night.

“Here,” I toss her my blanket. She catches it, then raises one immaculate eyebrow at me.

“Haven’t you got a spare sleeping bag? Or at least a pillow?”

“Nope, sorry.”

Baz glares at me, but I don’t cave, and eventually she gets the message. Settling down as the sky darkens, she folds it around her body like a cocoon, and falls asleep in an instant.

I pull my necktie over my nose and mouth in a failed attempt to warm my face a little, prop myself up against the nearest boulder, and stare out at the unflinching horizon, scanning it for movement and trying to no avail to keep my mind from wandering. I think of reading over Penny’s letters, making sure they’re all undamaged, putting them back in order, but then I’ll be even more distracted.

I wish I had something to drink.

I hear a rustling beside me and reach for my gun, until I see it’s just Baz, rolling over in her sleep. The blanket falls off her, and I instinctively reach forward to pull it back up around her. At the same time, her own hand comes up. They brush for a split second, then I yank my hand away, clutching it to my chest as I cast my eyes downwards like there’s something indecent before me.

“What are you doing?” Baz asks, voice thick with sleep.

“N-nothing.”

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” I let my gaze drift upwards again. Her head is propped up on one hand, her eyes half closed and her hair somehow even more dishevelled than it was an hour ago. She really needs a comb.

“I’m keeping watch.” Baz squints at me, and I shift uncomfortably, feeling like I’m being inspected. ”What?”

“If you’re not even going to sleep, why couldn’t I have your sleeping bag?”

“I- What?” Is that seriously her only thought? “I don’t have a sleeping bag!”

She has the decency to look shocked.

”You don’t?”

“No, all I have is that.” I gesture to the blanket.

“Oh.”

A long, awkward silence stretches between us. I refuse to look at her, and have begun to suspect she’s fallen asleep again when I hear her shuffling, and the next thing I know, she’s sitting beside me, and draping the blanket over the both of us. Even despite the layer of grime on her, she smells strangely nice, like cedar and bergamot. Then again, I suppose I’m so used to a nose full of dust and manure, any nice smell would stand out to me.

I shoot her a puzzled look, and just receive a shrug in return.

The awkward silence begins to return, so I decide to try and talk to her. She may be an argumentative lace-curtain aristocrat, but surely she’s capable of small talk.

“I bet you’re excited to get back to your family.”

“I suppose.” She murmurs, not sounding convinced. “Chances are father will lock me in my room for a year once I return, just to ensure nobody else can lay a finger on me.”

I’m a little surprised by that- it sounds like rather harsh parenting- but who am I to know? It’s not as if I know any rich people. Or parents.

“At least that shows he cares.” I offer up as a comfort.

“About his business.” Baz snorts derisively. “If something were to happen to me, who would continue the Grimm-Pitch dynasty after his death?”

“Didn’t you say you had a sister?”

“Four half sisters.”

“Jesus.”

“They’re not Pitches, so they wouldn’t get the full inheritance,” He explains. “If I die; it goes to my aunt Fiona, and my father is determined not to let that happen.”

“Why not?”

Baz blows out a long breath.

“She’s… reckless. My father likes her plenty, but he can’t trust her. He tries to keep her away from me, says she’s a bad influence. He tries so hard to shape me into the perfect daughter, a “respectable lady”, and every time I let him down, he finds someone to blame. Fiona is the usual suspect.”

I don’t know what to say to that. In some respects, I can understand her. I know what it’s like to carry someone’s great expectations. But on the other hand, the expectations placed on me were, I presume, vastly different from Baz’s.

“Plus, she refuses to marry, and a woman can’t run the business. At least with me, he thinks there’s a chance I’ll take a liking to one of his many rich friends... There isn’t.”

“Well, I wish you luck.” I say, then cringe. What kind of sentiment is that? I don’t even know her!

But then she says something that really takes me by surprise.

“Thank you.”

A second later, she cracks a smile.

“You look like I just said you won a thousand bucks.”

A small smile makes its way across my face.

“Sorry, I just never expected manners from you. Maybe I’ll make a “respectable lady” of you yet.”

She scoffs good-naturedly at that.

“My goodness, I hope not.”

“Nah, I’m usually a bad influence.” I concede. “More like your aunt.”

“You’re nothing like my aunt.” Baz says emphatically.

“Hm.” I shrug. “Get some sleep. We only have a few hours before we need to get going again.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to sleep instead?” She asks. “I can keep watch if you’d like.”

I take her in, hair a mess, blanket pulled up to her chin, face strangely soft and open, and shake my head.

Baz squints at me, then shrugs and narrows her eyes. I tilt my head back to look up at the stars, and try not to think too hard about the warm feeling that spreads from the centre of my chest to my fingertips when Baz’s head drops against my shoulder.


	4. Chapter 4

It isn’t until we’re packing up the next morning that I pinpoint the accent. Baz and I are going back and forth discussing supplies we’ll need to pick up in the nearest town for the days ahead, when it suddenly strikes me that Baz kind of sounds how I imagine the Queen would sound, if she put on a southern accent.

“Are you English?” I ask when there’s a lull in conversation.

“Yes.” She says, after a brief pause. “I was born in Hampshire, but moved here as a baby when my father spotted a business opportunity. My nurse came along too, I guess I picked the accent up from those few years and then growing up around her.” Her expression grows sad and her voice quietens. “We ended up staying because my mother found her calling, and then because my father couldn’t bare to leave her grave.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She says stiffly. “I was young, I don’t really remember her.”

Shit. Why did I have to push the matter?

“You’re English too.” Baz says quietly after a moment.

“Oh, yeah, my foster father had to leave England very suddenly, and he brought me along.” Foster father is not even close to an apt description of the man who rescued me from starving on the streets and took me under his wing, but I don’t think Baz wants or needs the details of my convoluted and strained relationship with Davy, so I move on. “I was eleven, and moved around a lot before that anyway. I didn’t think I had much of an accent left.”

“It’s not that noticeable.” Baz concedes.

Done packing up, I untie the horses and lead them to the stream for a drink. Baz stays by the boulders, seemingly lost in thought.

I take a moment to think as the stream bubbles beside me. Baz isn’t what I expected, both in that I didn’t expect to be recovering a human, and that since she’s opened up, she’s been… nice. I suppose surviving an attempt on our lives, combined with her brief bout of vulnerability last night, has made her trust me more, which is good, but I’m still surprised by the quick shift between the scowling, standoffish woman I rescued yesterday and the quietly contemplative one I woke up to this morning.

Admittedly, I lose track of time somewhat, and startle when I hear footsteps running towards me from behind. I pull out my pistol and turn, but it’s only Baz, her hands flying up at the sight of my gun.

Lowering the gun, I go to apologise, but she cuts me off.

“Somebody is coming.”

“What?”

“A man on a horse, he’s coming this way, and fast. I didn’t know if he was dangerous, I just thought to let you know-“

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” I nod, taking my gun out again. Whoever it is is probably just passing through, oblivious to our existence, but I know to be careful. There are plenty people after me; and no doubt there are many after Baz, too. “Stay here and lay low. I’ll check them out.”

“Are you sure?” She asks. I nod.

“They’re probably harmless.” I don’t believe my own words, and Baz doesn’t look convinced either.

I pull my neckerchief up to obscure my face, then set off back to where we slept last night. The figure isn’t approaching nearly as fast as Baz made it out like he was, his horse is going no faster than a meandering trot. Nevertheless, he is getting closer, and he’s heading right towards us.

I crouch behind the boulders, out of sight, and ponder what to do. If it is somebody after Baz or me, he’ll have an advantage on a horse, but I’m expecting him. I wait until I can hear hoof beats behind me, then spring up, aiming my gun at the rider, who is barely five feet away.

The horse is spooked, stopping abruptly and tossing its head, trying to step back, but the rider simply hops down and grins at me. I almost drop my gun in surprise.

“Simone!”

“Shepard!” We rush towards each other and collide, Shep lifting my legs a little off the ground as he pulls me into a bone-crushingly tight hug.

“What’re you doing here?” He grins when we finally part. “Last I heard, you were on your way to Oregon!”

“I got caught trying to sneak onto the train, Penny went on without me. I’ll be following her as soon as I raise the money.”

“Uh huh, and how’s that working out for you?”

“It’s certainly taking a while.” I shrug. Shepard looks apologetic.

“Well, it’s good to see you. I’ve been on my own for about a week now, I was starting to forget what other people look like.”

I laugh, relief beginning to offset my earlier apprehension. I feel the same way, it’s good to see a friendly face when you’re alone on the wide stretching plains. However, all my relief vanishes as a gunshot echoes from behind me.

“Shit!” Shepard drops and whips out his pistol as I scramble for my own, looking around for the shooter. Another gunshot rings out, and Shep shoots back as his horse takes off, just as I spot the culprit.

“Stop!” I yell. Baz strides forward, gun raised, and I dive in front of Shepard, arms raised. “What the fuck are you doing?” Baz pulls up short, looking at me like I’m the crazy one.

She says something I don’t catch, so I storm over to her. She stumbles back as I reach her, and I yank the gun out of her hands.

“What the hell are you playing at?” I jab her in the ribs with the barrel of the gun as I shout, but instead of cowering, Baz pulls herself up to her full height and fixes me with a sneer.

“I thought you were in danger!”

“Where did you even get this?”

“One of your saddle bags. I figured you’d have a spare.”

I stare at her incredulously for a moment, my body growing hot as rage bubbles up in my chest.

“So you decide to start firing at my friend?” At this, I turn to see Shepard, still aiming his gun at Baz, but with more hesitancy. I raise the confiscated gun for him to see and shake my head, and he lowers his own, though he still looks dubious.

“How was I supposed to know he was friendly?” I turn back to Baz.

“We were hugging!”

“It looked like he just grabbed you.” She sniffs. “Sorry for trying to save your life.”

“You were trying to kill an innocent man.” I snap back. “And badly, I may add. You missed both shots by a long way.”

Baz only sneers again. I growl and turn away from her, striding back over to Shepard.

“I’m sorry about her.” I say, then turn to Baz and snap, “Go make yourself useful and catch Shepard’s horse!”

“Why should I?”

“How about because you’re the one who spooked her?”

Baz has no retort for that, though she looks miserable as she storms off to the contentedly grazing horse.

“Who is that?” Shep asks, gazing after Baz’s receding silhouette.

“Her name’s Baz. I’m taking her back to her father for reward money.”

“What’d she do, run away from home?”

“She was kidnapped.”

Shep bites back a snicker. I grin back at him.

“She’s a bit stuck up, and apparently a bit trigger happy, but she’s mostly alright.”

Baz returns and thrusts the horse’s reins at Shepard, still scowling.

“Thanks.” He says, his amusement clear.

“You could at least apologise.” I say, feeling like I’m chastising a petulant child. Baz has the decency to look a tiny bit ashamed.

“Sorry.”

“Ah, it’s alright.” Shepard shrugs, genuinely unfazed. “You’re far from the first person to try and kill me.”

Baz smiles a little at that, and reaches out to let the horse sniff at her hand.

“What’s her name?”

“Nessie.”

“Nessie?”

Shep smiles, a little sheepishly, but his eyes light up. I roll my eyes at him fondly- I like to see him this excited, but I don’t think I can stand to hear about the “Loch Ness Monster” again. I wander back to where we left the horses while Shep talks Baz’s ear off about it.

I don’t see what’s so fascinating about a monster in a random lake in Scotland, apparently killed over a thousand years ago, but Shepard seems convinced it’s still out there- a sensationalist newspaper article he read as a teenager claimed some people has seen it beneath the water, and now he spends all his free time theorising that there are more creatures like it, here in America. Sometimes I think the main reason he became a cattle driver was to travel and see for himself what’s out there. So far all he’s sighted is a goat-headed bat thing on the east coast. Penny thinks it was a crane.

“So Penny is in Oregon?” Shep asks, finishing his spiel and joining me as I fiddle with Cherry’s bridle. “Do you know how she’s doing?”

“She’s sent a few letters, and seems to be doing fine. She’d convinced her parents are there, but hasn’t had much luck finding them yet.”

“Her parents who abandoned her with Davy?” Shep asks dubiously.

“They didn’t abandon her.” I say more forcefully than is deserved. “They had to leave and planned to come back, but we moved around a lot. They probably just lost track of her, but they moved to Oregon, so that’s where they should be. At least, Penny thinks so.”

After a few moments of contemplative silence, Baz speaks, startling me.

“Who’s Penny?”

Shepard looks to me, unsure of what he can say.

“She’s… my best friend.” I state. Baz’s face remains blank as she turns to the horizon without responding. Shep meets my eyes, but I can only shrug.

“So where are you two headed?” He asks.

“Manorpitch.”

“Huh, well I’m stopping off at Hillbeyond before heading east if you want to travel with me?” Shep offers.

“That sounds good.” I smile. “You can drop us off at Ebb’s, so long as you’re sure you’re alright travelling with us. Last I heard, Davy still has men out after me…”

“I’m not scared of Davy Mage.” Baz looks up as Shep grins at her. “So long as this one doesn’t shoot me again, I’d be happy to have some company on the trail.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to the Loch Ness Monster and Jersey Devil for being the only cryptids sighted before 1900, and to my friends for putting up with me sending them random cryptid trivia at 2am as I searched for this information.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favourite chapters, I hope you enjoy it!

The Three Legged Goat is as densely packed as usual, but Ebb still spots me the minute I step foot inside the place. She gestures me over to the bar, and I squeeze my way through to be greeted with a huge smile and a whole bottle of whiskey already put aside for me.

“On the house!” Ebb assures me as I reach into my pocket. If it wasn’t for the bar in the way, I know she would be giving me an inescapable hug right now, but instead she substitutes it with free alcohol.

“You’re a life saver!” I tell her, grinning.

“Ah, s’nothing.” She replies. “I suppose you’re wanting a room, too?”

“Two beds.” I nod. Ebb looks over my shoulder at Baz, then winks at me.

“All I’ve got available is a double.”

Oh god, not this again.

“No, seriously, two beds. Separate.”

Ebb shrugs, a flicker of amusement still twinkling in her eyes.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Unamused, I take the bottle and two glasses, then lead Baz to a table in the corner, out of the way of most of the pub’s patrons’ gazes. I’m not sure how many people are after me and how many are after Baz, but I assume the combination leaves us with plenty of potential enemies, so I try to angle my face away from the sight of others and keep my head down as I fill both the glasses halfway.

Ebb comes by while I’m filling the glasses and hands me a key, tutting at Baz.

“What on earth are you wearing, lamb?”

“Uh…” Baz actually averts her face a little at the scrutiny. “My nightdress. I was taken in my sleep, I don’t have any other clothes.”

“Well that won’t do! Here, come with me.”

Baz casts me a worried look over her shoulder as Ebb takes her hand and drags her away. I don’t worry; the only people I trust more than Ebb are Penny and myself, she would never hurt a friend of mine.

Sure enough, Baz returns roughly twenty minutes later, scrubbed clean and dressed in a white shirt, worn boots, and a long skirt the colour of red wine. All the clothes are several sizes too big, leading me to believe they’re Ebb’s, but somehow she makes it work, tucking the shirt in and keeping the skirt up with a brown leather belt. Her hair has been brushed and braided. I can’t stop staring at her.

“You look good.”

“Thanks. I feel a lot warmer, for sure.”

“And a lot more decent.” I raise an eyebrow.

Baz coyly takes a sip of her whiskey, only to recoil with a grimace.

“Not used to drinking?” I ask.

“No, I’m used to it, just usually what I drink is far better than this.” She wrinkles her nose at the glass.

“Well if you can afford better, please, indulge us.”

Baz sneers at that, but begrudges another sip.

The expensive alcohol that Baz apparently usually drinks clearly isn’t as strong as our whiskey, because only one glass in, she’s flushed and giddy.

“I wasn’t actually taken in my sleep.” She says suddenly. I raise an eyebrow at this, a silent question. “I only said that because of the night dress- it’s what I was wearing when I woke up. The guys who kidnapped me must have taken what I was wearing when they got me. They were nice, probably worth a lot.”

“So why…”

“I guess I wanted to preserve my dignity, or something… But I don’t really care about what you think of me now.”

“Gee, thanks.

“I don’t mean like that!” She scrambles. “I mean, we’re friends now, so I don’t care so much about appearances.”

“We’re friends?” I smile, raising my glass to my lips to hide it.

“Well, I should hope so.” Baz murmurs back.

“So what really happened?”

“Oh. I… I was grabbed outside a friend’s ranch by two boys. One of them covered my mouth with a cloth while the other restrained my arms. There must have been ether or something on the cloth because I think I passed out. I remember the last thing I thought before everything going black was that I was surely going to die.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” She blows out a long breath. “My father always warns me away from travelling alone, tells me to take a chaperone with me, and I always refuse. I don’t like feeling like I need to be coddled or protected, like I’m some fragile doll, but… Well, I suppose he was right.”

“Davy used to say the same thing. I was one of the only girls in the community growing up, and both in England and America things were pretty rough. Penny’s brother, Premal, used to accompany us everywhere to try and keep us safe, but once he was old enough to work he couldn’t be there for us anymore, and we started being seen as liabilities. That’s when I decided to learn how to shoot. Nobody tries it on if you have a reputation for going for your gun.”

Baz stares at me for a second in silent contemplation, and I begin to regret letting the drink loosen my tongue. What must she think of me, a delinquent, whose first solution to any problem is intimidation? I watch as she slowly raises her glass to her lips and swallows what is left of it, watching the bob of her pale throat. She slams the glass down decisively, and levels her gaze at me.

“I need a gun.”

I throw my head back and laugh at that, and from there the night passes in a blur as we drink and yarn the hours away. I tell Baz about the time Penny and I tried to steal some chickens, and managed to bluff our way past a sheriff who caught us walking out of town with one tucked under each arm. She tells me about her friends Dev and Niall, and the pranks they used to pull on her father, hiding his glasses or replacing all his left shoes with ones a size too small.

“Of course,” she says as I laugh, “Once I turned twelve, he expected me to “grow up” and “act like a lady”, but all that meant to me was that I had to be more careful not to get caught. My aunt Fiona got in on it too at that point, and we made it our personal goal to see how far we could push it without my father realising. He only realised it had been us tormenting him when he caught Fiona pouring salt in his tea. A rather pathetic thing to get caught for, admittedly. But still, we had a good run.”

“I think we would have gotten along as children.” I say, letting a small amount of fondness creep into my tone. “A right pair of troublemakers, we could have had a lot of fun.”

“We can still have plenty of fun. After all, I’d like to think I’m still a troublemaker.” Baz raises one immaculate eyebrow in a challenge. Are you?”

The word yes is barely past my lips before Baz closes the space between us in a rush of cedar and bergamot. Her lips are soft, and her hands, cupping my face, are refreshingly cool against my flushed cheeks. As if on instinct, my own hands fly to her waist, pulling her closer, almost onto my lap, as one of her hands trails through my hair and settles at the nape of my neck.

She only pulls away when we are both so out of breath I feel I may faint. For a moment, there is nothing but her stormy eyes and her laboured breathing, then the rest of the saloon slowly comes back into focus. A man a few tables away from us is staring.

“Shit.” I push Baz off me as gently as I can, suddenly feeling very hot and itchy. “I need to… I need to get some air.” I murmur, unable to even hear myself over the blood rushing in my ears. I stagger away from the table towards the front door and take a moment to breathe and calm myself, pressing my forehead against the rough stone building.

What am I thinking?

Whatever this is, it can’t happen. For a start, Baz is completely out of reach. She’s posh and attractive and admitted herself that she’ll be married off to another posh attractive bloke once she gets home. And that’s another thing- she’s heading home. And then I’m heading to Oregon. It’s bound to end in heartbreak.

And anyway, we’re both women. Sure, sometimes men can make a relationship out on the plains, herding cattle far away from civilisation, but we’re not men. We don’t get those opportunities, and so we can’t have that luxury. No matter how my fingers itch to be back on Baz’s skin, no matter how my lips burn with the need to kiss her again, logically we simply can’t do this.

…Right?

When I get back to the table, Baz isn’t there. Panicking slightly, I rush to the bar and ask Ebb if she’s seen her, relief washing over me when she informs me that she has gone up to our room.

I ascend the creaky stairs to the second floor of the inn and find our room, entering to find it dark.

“Baz?”

There’s no response, but I spot her sleeping form in the bed- the only bed in the room.

I don’t know whether Ebb’s matchmaking schemes are a blessing or a curse as I take off my boots and strip off my outer layers as quietly as I can. As fa as I can tell, Baz is still fully clothed, but she’s untied her hair. As I gingerly lay down on the unoccupied side of the bed, it becomes apparent that Baz isn’t really asleep- her breathing his far too shallow, her body too rigid. I lay on my back, my hands folded on my stomach, as she keeps her body turned away from me. Nevertheless, I am acutely aware of her presence beside me. Of how I could reach out right now and feel the soft silk of her hair, kiss the hollow of her throat, run my hands over the hidden expanse of pale skin hidden beneath her shirt.

Oh, logic be damned. I want Baz, for as long as our situation will allow it. I’ll let her break my heart.

“Are you awake?” I ask into the darkness. Aside from a hitch in her breath, almost inaudible over the muffled voices from the floor below us, she gives no response. I place my hand face up at my side, an invitation, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

I fall asleep like that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for some violence in this chapter, and in some future chapters!

The next morning, Baz gives me the silent treatment. She’s already up and dressed by the time I wake up, leaving the room as soon as I sit up.

Okay, so she doesn’t want to talk to me. Obviously the events of last night were the result of alcohol and bad decisions, and she just wants to forget it. I suppose I should feel the same way, all things considered, but I can’t help but mourn what we could have had.

I wash myself up in a cold barrel of water, brush my hair for the first time in weeks, then dress and come downstairs to find Baz sitting at the empty bar with a glass of water, chatting with Ebb as she sweeps the floor. I linger at the entrance to the room, unnoticed, not wanting to intrude and ruin Baz’s mood any more than my mere existence already has.

“Don’t worry about it, hen.” Ebb smiles warmly at Baz, leaning on her broom’s handle. “Just promise me you’ll take care of Simone, ey? She gets into all kinds of scrapes, she could do with having a sensible girl around to look after her.”

“I’m afraid I can’t promise that.” Baz says softly. “I’m going home today, we won’t see each other after that.” Her tone is almost remorseful.

Ebb just tuts.

“I don’t believe that for a second. The two of you are good together, I’m sure your paths will cross again.”

I come forward before Ebb can say anything else embarrassing.

“I already have a sensible friend to keep me right.” I say, placing the room key on the bar and taking a seat beside Baz. “Penny, remember? I’m meeting her in Oregon.”

Ebb looks between us, then turns her gaze pointedly to the ground and she resumes her sweeping.

“I never said you need a sensible friend.”

Baz chokes on her drink, then tries to cover it up by coughing, which only makes it more obvious. I catch the grim Ebb attempts to hide.

It’s decided. I’m going to walk to the centre of town, and throw myself into the well.

“Right.” Baz says shortly. “Well, we’d best be going, right? I’d like to get home in a timely manner.”

“Yeah.” I mutter as Baz walks towards the door. Ebb casts me a look I can’t read, so I just shrug at her.

“Look after yourself, Simone.” She says.

“Always do,” I grin, then add, more solemnly, “you too.”

><><><

“Prince?”

“No.”

“Ranger.”

“Nope.”

“Bandit?”

“Hm… no.”

“Black Beauty?”

“He’s not even black.”

“Well I’m out of ideas.” I sigh. Baz smiles at me, and I feel my spirits raise slightly. The beginning of the day was awkward, sure, but now that we’re back to arguing over dumb things- in this case, Baz’s new horse’s name- I feel like we’re back to normal, and last night was nothing more than an awkward blip that we can move on from.

“Well he’s brown… How about Brown Butter?” I suggest.

Baz scoffs.

“What is it with you and food? First Cherry, and now this?”

“First of all, Cherry’s full name is Sour Cherry Scone and- yeah, that doesn’t help my case, does it?” I groan as Baz laughs.

“Well, I suppose cherry scones go with butter.” She offers. “Now all we need is a Clotted Cream.”

“Damn, clotted cream? That’s fancy.”

“Is it?” She grins cheekily.

“Oh shut up.”

Manorpitch has been on the horizon for a while now, and now it’s so close, we could probably gallop there.

Baz will be home in less than an hour. That fact makes something in my chest ache, but I push it deep down.

“You excited to be getting home?” I ask.

Baz makes a non-committal sound in response.

“I suppose it’ll be nice to see my family again.” She sighs after a minute of silence. “Just… the things that come with it probably aren’t gonna be fun. I’m going to get such a lecture from father.” 

“I’m sure he’ll just be relieved to see you.”

“I doubt that.”

For some reason, that really rubs me the wrong way.

“At least you have a family to back to.” I mutter under my breath.

Baz sighs, casting me a guilty look.

“Simone, you know that isn’t what I- Look out!”

Before I can turn to see whatever she’s seeing, pain explodes across my face and snaps my head to the side so violently, I feel something in my neck crack, as a hard, blunt object smacks into the side of my skull. I land face up on the ground and hear Baz shouting in protest as my head swims. I try to get my bearings and sit up, but as soon as I do, a hard kick to the ribs sends me sprawling back down on the ground, curling in on myself in an attempt to protect myself. Whoever attacked me drops a thick plank of wood to the ground in front of me, then hauls me to my feet by my collar.

“Hello, Simon.” His smile is filled with malice as his sour breath hits me in the face. George- arguably the biggest and meanest of Davy’s men. Behind him, Premal is wrestling Baz off her horse, though she’s putting up quite a good fight.

George slaps me so hard my ears ring, drawing my attention back to his face. His lips are moving but it takes a minute for his words to starts to register.” “Your poor dad’s been looking everywhere for you. So, how about we pay him a visit, huh?”

He hauls me to my feet, confiscates my gun, and begins to drag me over to his own horse, Premal catching up to him quickly with Baz thrown over his shoulder. She screams obscenities at him, kicking and punching at anything she can reach, until Premal loses his patience and throws her to the ground.

The fog in my brain begins to lift, and I manage to slip out of George’s grip, lunging at Premal. We go down, rolling in the dirt as I try to land a punch, but he gets the better of me, pinning me beneath him. A few feet away, I see Baz struggle back to her feet and make to move towards us, but then a deafening shot rings out, and she collapses with a choked cry of pain. Premal whispers an apology right before he punches me in the face, and my vision blurs with crimson as I scream Baz’s name.

Then Premal raises his fist again and the red turns to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i can't believe i just ended a chapter with a character passing out, i feel like a 2013 wattpad self insert author rn. added to the last chapter ending with the character falling asleep and i really am just jamming every lazy writing technique in here, huh?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (spoilers) warning for violence and death threats in this chapter!

Harsh, course cord scratches against my chafed wrists as I slowly come back to myself, blinking in the dim light.

Through the haze of throbbing pain clouding my head and the strong scent of blood in my nostrils, I make out the shape of a human silhouette in front of me, and my eyes snap open.

I’m tied to a chair by ankles, wrists bound behind my back. I turn my head from side to side to survey the room- the inside of a cowhide tent, from the looks of it, and catch a flash of black hair in my periphery- Baz is tied to another chair, back-to-back with me.

A rough hands grabs my face and forces my gaze forward. Davy looks into my eyes, and smiles.

“Simone! So good of you to drop by and let your old man know how you’re doing.” He gloats.

“What the hell do you want?” I rasp. My throat feels like it’s filled with sand.

“A bit of loyalty, for a start.” He releases my face and steps back. We’re the same height, but in my compromised position, he towers over me. “Who do you think you are, abandoning me? Running away from the man who raised you in the middle of the night?”

“It’s not as if I took anything!” I protest, straining against the ropes that bind me. I feel Baz begin to stir, but make no effort to lower my voice. “We asked to leave, you said no, what were we supposed to do?”

“Not leave!” He snaps, throwing his hands up incredulously. “I saved you from starvation and gave you a home and family, Simone. I gave you a purpose. You don’t get to up and leave.”

“The purpose you gave me was robbing people.” I growl. “This is not my home, and you’re not my family.”

Davy blows out a long breath and stares me down. If I didn’t know him better, I’d think he was about to hit me.

But that’s the thing about Davy. He doesn’t hit people. He makes me patrol the area while everyone else eats, he turns my peers against me, and once, he let me take in a battered stray dog, just so he could shoot it when I spoke out of turn, just days after I had nursed it back to full health. He’s never raised a hand to me. He’s never needed to. He knows all my most intimate fears and weaknesses.

“Simone…” He kneels before me, expression compassionate but eyes aflame with barely suppressed rage. Baz mumbles something incoherent behind me, her voice barely above a whisper. “I am your family. In fact, I’m the only family you’ve got... So, I’ve decided that I’m willing to overlook Penny’s absence. She was dead weight anyway, and too smart for her own good.”

“You are not-“

“I am willing to overlook her absence,” He continues, “since you have brought me something far more valuable.”

He stands and walks around me to survey Baz. I turn my head as far as I can as he raises her face to better see it.

“Wow…” He lets out a dry chuckle. “You are the spitting image of your mother.”

Baz’s head lolls when Davy releases his grip.

“How do you know Baz’s mother?” I question.

Davy doesn’t reply, circling back round to me and pulling out a small knife.

“Now, hand over the contract you had with her father, and we’ll get this all sorted. You can re-join your family, and Basira can re-join hers.”

I just frown at him. I don’t have the contract, it’s in Cherry’s saddle bag with Penny’s letters. As for Cherry, I have no idea where she is. I hope she’s safe...

“Well?”

“I don’t have it.” I snap. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t just hand it over.”

“Well it isn’t in your horse’s saddle bags, or your pockets, so I suggest you have it by the time I come back,” Davy raises the knife threateningly, “or else I’ll have no reason to keep the two of you alive.”

With that, he leaves, his threat hanging over our head.

It’s hard to tell how much time passes as the pain in my head continues to grow, but eventually, Baz must properly regain her consciousness, because she begins to shake and strain as she tests her bonds.

“It’s no use.” I mumble. “You won’t get out of these.”

“I will.” She doesn’t stop, grunting with the effort of trying to twist her arms out of the ropes. “Where are we?”

“No clue.” I sigh. “My… Davy caught us. He wants me to give him the contract between myself and your father so he can return you and get the reward money. But it doesn’t matter- I don’t have it.”

Baz goes still.

“Yes you do.”

“No, I don’t!” I insist. “I put it in Cherry’s saddle bag, but now it’s not there, and if it doesn’t magically materialise in the next few hours, we’ll both be dead.”

Baz lets out a long-suffering breath, then drawls, in a voice that suggests she thinks I’m the stupidest person alive, “Are you sure you took it out of your corset?”

“What are you talking about? I don’t even wear a corset.”

I hear a loud snap, and then Baz stands and saunters into my line of sight, holding the snapped and unravelled rope that bound her between her fingers with an extremely smug expression.

“So you can’t escape a termite-infested closet, but you can untie your hands behind your back?” I ask incredulously.

“Fiona taught me.” She says, like that’s enough explanation. Then she raises a critical eyebrow at me, leans in, and plucks a folded piece of paper from the front of my shirt. “Down the front of your corset.” She smirks, still leaning in.

“It’s not a corset.” I mumble, face burning with embarrassment. So now Baz is a better escape artist than me, has a better memory than me, and wants to get all up close and personal with me while I’m tied up and helpless?

I mean, I don’t entirely dislike it, I just wish Davy’s little murder threat wasn’t nagging at the back of my mind.

She leans even closer, and my eyes begin to droop closed, but then we hear a noise outside. Baz straightens and drops the letter on my lap, then steps back, pressing herself against the side of the tent beside the entrance flap. I swear the smell of blood gets stronger as she presses a finger to her lips with a conspiratorial smile.

The flap opens, and Davy strolls in. His eyes widen ever so slightly when he notices Baz’s absence, but then she leaps into action, jumping onto his back with wild fury and fixing her hands around her throat. Davy thrashes as she clings to him, then he manages to throw her off. She springs back onto her feet, but he punches her and sends her sprawling back.

“Hey!” I strain against my bonds, desperate to escape and protect Baz, but my shouts only serve to alert others nearby, and soon three more of Davy’s boys join the fray and overpower Baz, shoving her to the ground face-down and pinning her hands at her sides. The whole time, she thrashes and fights, even sinking her teeth into one man’s arm, while I shout abuse at them and try my hardest to escape. How the hell did Baz do this?

Everyone suddenly goes very still and quiet when Davy pulls out a revolver and aims it at Baz’s head.

“Simone,” he pants, trying not to show his exertion, “I see you’ve found the contract.” He picks it up and gives it a quick once-over, then smiles in a way reminiscent of a coyote coming across an unsupervised child. “I suppose I should uphold our agreement, huh? Even though Basira hardly deserves it after this attack, I will see to it that gets back to her father. And you, of course, will be welcomed back with open arms, with no hard feelings.”

“How the hell do you know my name?” Baz demands, gritting her teeth as though in pain. I’m still wondering the same thing.

“Your mother told me all about you when you were born.” He says, as if that solves anything. Davy wasn’t even in America when Baz was born.

Nevertheless, this clearly means something to Baz, because her eyes go wide and she begins to struggle again, twice as hard as before.

“Simone! Listen to me, don’t you dare give him that con-“ Davy has put his gun away and hauled her to her feet before she can finish speaking. He presses his hand against Baz’s side abruptly, successfully stopping her mid-sentence as she sucks in a whistling breath and winces. Davy’s hand comes away red and I suddenly remember the shot I heard before I was knocked out, and my heart stops.

“That doesn’t look good…” Davy tuts. “If you don’t see a doctor soon, who knows what kinds of nasty infections you could get? What do you say, Simone?” He asks. “This can go in one of two ways: you agree to the deal and stand by my side while Basira goes home and lives, or…” He digs his fingers into Baz’s wound and she whimpers, then stifles the sound with her hand and glares daggers at him.

“I…” She meets my eyes and shakes her head. What, she wants me to let her die slowly and painfully of injection or blood loss? She must know I can’t let that happen. Tears threatening to well up, I push down all emotion, all hopes of reuniting with Penny, and swallow my pride. “I agree to your terms.”

Davy smiles again, and hands Baz off to two of his men. He unties my hands as she stands by the door, expression furious. Rubbing my sore wrists, I step up to her. Her hands have been pulled away from her mouth, but she remains silent.

“I’m sorry.” I shrug. “There’s nothing I could do.”

“You fucking traitor.” She hisses. The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I physically stumble back a step. Despite how much her words hurt me, I pull myself back together nonetheless, and reach out to take her hand. She pulls it away.

“This was the only way. At least you’ll still make it home in one piece.”

She responds with a sad laugh. “If you really believe that, you’re significantly thicker than I thought.”

And with that, she’s led out of the tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic might be going on hiatus for a little while as i edit the next few chapters and work on a few prompts for the Carry On Countdown, so i've decided to leave this fic on a nice little cliffhanger. hopefully i'll be back soon- early january at the latest. thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i'm back from my haitus and very pleased with myself for actually coming back when i said i would

Baz’s words swirl in my head as I try to sleep that night, lying on the cold hard floor, wrapped in a blanket which still faintly retains Baz’s citrusy scent.

“At least you’ll still make it home in one piece.”

“If you really believe that, you’re significantly thicker than I thought.”

What did she mean by that?

The sound of a dozen men breathing and shifting fills my ears as the others sleep all around me. I didn’t realise how much I appreciated the sound of only one person sleeping beside me until now.

When I can no longer stand the circles my brain is going around in, I get up. Creeping past all the sleeping bodies as quietly as I can, I make my way to Davy’s tent, where I know Baz is being kept.

I know it’s asking for trouble, but I can’t let this end on such a bitter note. Even if Davy catches me, I want closure. I want to talk to Baz- I need to talk to Baz, like I need water and shelter. I need her like I need air.

I stick my head through the tent flap and quickly survey the interior. Davy is asleep (on an actual bed, the spoiled fucker), facing the entrance, snoring away loudly. Baz is sat upright against the foot of the bed, seemingly also asleep. I take a deep breath, muster all of my courage, and step inside the tent.

Keeping low to the ground and willing myself not to make a sound, I make my way over to Baz. Couching before her, I place one hand over her mouth, then shake her a little. She awakes with a start, but thankfully any sound she makes is supressed by my hand. I flit my eyes over her head, hopefully communicating that Davy is asleep a mere two feet away, then slowly remove my hand. Baz narrows her eyes.

“What do you want?” She whispers, voice low but filled with malice.

I suppose I should have expected to be met with hostility, but it hurts nonetheless.

“To see you again.” I state simply. “To say goodbye, I suppose, and explain myself, if you’ll let me.”

“What do you have to explain? The situation seems simple to me: you handed me over to a killer to save your own skin.”

“Davy isn’t a killer.” I sigh. “He isn’t going to hurt you- he said he’ll return you to your father.”

“I’m sure he will.” Baz snaps back, her voice raising dangerously. My gaze snaps to Davy, but he doesn’t falter. “No doubt he’ll dump my body right on the doorstep.”

“What are you talking about?” I’m getting tired of this now. Baz is acting like she’s going to die, when Davy is obviously just going to exchange her for some reward money. He’s done it before with young Miss Wellbelove, though admittedly he was the one to kidnap her in the first place.

“He said he knew my mother when I was a baby.” Baz spits.

“He’s lying. Davy would have been in London when you were a baby.” I shrug, not understanding. Davy lies all the time, it’s not unusual. Baz just sneers at me. 

“I was born in London, Simon.” Then she begins to speak, so quietly I need to lean in close just to hear her.

“He knew my mother when I was a baby, back in London. At the time she worked with the police unofficially, and her job was to take down gangs. She would befriend crime bosses, flash her wealth to entice them, then invite them to a party attended by undercover detectives and catch them stealing red handed. Many such men were probably introduced to me at those parties. One such man refused to go to jail quietly, and did all he could to make it known that a woman took him down. He brought my mother’s occupation to light and she had to quit, disgraced, so she moved to America to start anew. The man bribed and threatened the jurors, escaped punishment, and followed her here with a small group of young followers. My mother became a Sheriff. She earned the respect of the people without having to hide who she was, and she was shot down in the middle of the street at high noon by the same man who had aimed to destroy her the first time.”

I just stare at her, unable to process what she’s trying to tell me.

“My father told me all of this. He swears every word is true. And he knows the man’s name- Davy Mage.”

“He…” My eyes flit between Baz and Davy rapidly. “He killed your mother?”

Baz nods solemnly.

“And he’ll kill me too.”

I slump in front of her, closing my eyes and taking a moment to gather my thoughts. Davy continues to snore. Eventually I raise my head and stare at his face, something within me taking shape and solidifying.

I meet Baz’s eyes. There isn’t a trace of dishonesty in them, and I know she believes every word she just told me. She’s right, and if I don’t do something right now, she will undoubtedly die at dawn.

“Then let’s get you out of here.”

Baz is tied by the wrists to the metal bedframe with a lot more rope, and by the bruising and chafing around her wrists, she’s clearly already painfully aware that she can’t wriggle her way out of these. Reluctantly, I leave her for a moment, retrieve a pocketknife from beneath Premal’s pillow (he’s laughably predicable and a hell of a deep sleeper), and return to saw through the ropes.

It’s slow work to get through the ropes without disturbing Davy, and my heart stops multiple times throughout the process when he rolls over or coughs in his sleep, certain we’re about to be caught and killed. We’re silent the entire time, communicating only with looks.

Thankfully, by the time the first rays of sun are beginning to leak into the grey sky, Baz is free. She gets to her feet slowly, and we begin to creep towards the opening of the tent, hand in hand.

Any stealth we thought we had is immediately lost when we step outside, only to find that a handful of Davy’s men have already woken up. We stare at them. They stare at us. I open my mouth to make up some lie, but before my brain catches up enough to form words, one of them reaches for his pistol and the rest erupt into shouts.

We run.

I grip Baz’s hand so tightly I fear she may lose circulation in her fingers, but my fear of losing her again far outweighs that minor concern.

Of course, we don’t know where we’re running, and there’s nowhere to escape to. It’s too light now to hide, and there’s precious little cover anyway.

We make a sharp turn, and almost run into the rear end of a horse. Multiple horses, in fact. All of Davy’s horses, at least half a dozen.

Unfortunately, they’re not alone.

Premal stares at us, a pair of reins held limply, forgotten, in his hand.

“Please,” I say, meeting his eyes. Surely he won’t hurt us. I’m Penelope’s friend. We offered to take him with us when we first ran away. Of all the people I thought might betray us, Premal was never one of them, but now I don’t know what to think.

Clearly, neither does he, as he looks between us with agonising indecision written all over his face.

I can hear the other men approaching from behind us, baying for blood, Davy’s voice booming the loudest. They’ll be upon us in mere seconds.

Premal thrusts the reins at me, then grabs another at random and hands tem to Baz. We don’t have time to thank him, simply mounting the horses and tuning to leave.

“Find Penelope and never come back.” Premal says lowly, then he smacks the horses, spurring them on, and we tear away from our imminent deaths as a shot rings out, the bullet missing by a hair’s breadth.


End file.
